Modernacity
by iguanablogger
Summary: Some short stories about the AC cast in the Alternate Universe/Future/21st century. WARNING: completely random. Will be updated whenever I get inspired.
1. The Apartment Was Small

The apartment was small, but in a sense that was a good thing. It meant the boys would look out for each other. Sometimes, though, the looking after bit was harder than other times.

Tonight was one of those nights. It was two in the morning, but that did not mean that any of the apartment's residents were sleeping. To the contrary, both were quite awake and sharing company in the back end of the kitchen.

It would be difficult to ignore the small television mounted there, or the gaming system plugged into it as both were in use. Their occupant, a white-hoodied man in his twenties, let out low curses under his breath as he mashed the controller's buttons. His companion, an equally young person sporting a t-shirt, cotton pants, and long dark hair, slouched in the nook's only chair with a laptop placed precariously on his thigh.

"We should look for him." The laptop boy said after a while.

The hoodied one let out a snort of disdain, "He'll stumble home when he's finished. He always does."

"It's two am," Laptop pointed out.

"All the more reason for me to stay here. You may go out and search for him, if you like."

Finally, the raven-haired one gave up his argument and went back to studying his computer's screen with disinterest. On the television, another Reaper Husk collapsed with a howl, its chest a mass of jagged holes. It was clear that although the un-hooded one was determined to study, he was much more relaxed watching his friend blow aliens apart on the Xbox.

A few more minutes passed, and the argument resurfaced.

"What if he's drunk?" Laptop asked in a slight effort to arouse concern in his apathetic partner.

Instead, the man laughed meanly, "That's a certainty."

"What if gets mugged on his way home?"

"Then all those years of Krav Maga will finally pay off."

"What if he's in trouble? What if he's at the police station? What if he's dead?"

He shrugged off his roomate's incessant nagging and refocused his attention on his game, "I've been telling him for years his insolence would get him killed. Now at least I'll be right."

Laptop-man shook his head and snapped his computer shut. "I can't believe you."

This statement appeared to have struck a chord. The young man turned from his seat on the floor and gave his companion a harsh glare. Then he spoke calmly:

"Connor. We both know Ezio does this at least once a month; not to mention its Cristina's birthday tonight. He probably went to the party at seven and hasn't left yet."

"What party extends two hours past midnight?" Connor wanted to know.

Altair laughed at the country boy's ignorance, "Ezio's party."

Half a minute later he added as an afterthought, "In fact I wouldn't be surprised if Ezio spends the night there."

Connor raised his eyebrows, "Without letting us know?"

Altair shrugged and returned to the console, "I doubt even he knew he'd be staying."

"He should have at least texted us."

-p-p-p-p-p-p-p

His window is rolled up despite the sensational weather. His cup-holder is nearly sparkling and the cappuccino it protects is wrapped in the crispest paper. His radio and its collection of knobs and buttons are in pristine condition, but appear a neglected portion of the front seat. The eyes in the mirror are focused and sharp. The only sounds are the thrumming of the motor and the crackling of the occasional check in over the walkie-talkie.

Despite the driver's immaculate workspace, he seems distant- on edge. His fingers drum on the steering wheel impatiently, and he glances around corners three or four times more than necessary before turning. When he is driving down a stretch of road for more than a few minutes, his brows come together and his lips form a pout, as though there is something that needs to be said and he doesn't know how to say it. The com sputters again, and he is late in replying.

Soon he will arrive at his destination. As his cruiser pulls into the desolate lot, he leans forward on the wheel and glances about, unsure of what to expect. The car slides to a halt and nothing appears.

A click and the door swings open. The driver is much taller when he exits the vehicle, his head easily reaching six feet in height. His skin is pale, his hair blonde and his eyes a light shade. It is bold of him to come to so dilapidated a place bearing the blue and black uniform of a city guard.

The officer's anxiety is hardly noticeable as he leaves the safety of his car and begins to explore the old scrap yard. He knows it is a terribly clichéd spot for the meeting, but it is also convenient. That truth is not enough to remove his hand from his hip, though. His palm hovers over his pistol, awaiting command. When the shadows deepen or a rat scampers past, the gun is all but unholstered by fingers that do not shake. It is curious how one can seem so collected and so scattered at the same time.

Suddenly, he stops. He is aware that another pair of footsteps has joined his. Possibilities, fears, assumptions present themselves in his mind, but in the end the entity chooses to make itself known before he can react:

"It's been a while, Sibrand."

She is behind him, but Sibrand neither turns nor replies. He stands quiet and waits for her to continue.

There is a smile in her voice as she slinks closer, "I was beginning to fear you'd abandoned me."

"I do not abandon those who do their jobs."

And now she appears before him, the brim of her hat hiding her eyes and not her grin. There is cunningness in the way she speaks, the way she smiles as though she knows something he doesn't. Where he is fair, she is tanned, and her hair is a healthier gold.

"So you have returned to me, which means one of two things," the thief says, "either you are planning a breach and want information regarding the latest hideout, or…" She pauses for a moment, "you've finally the means to make up that dinner you owe me."

Sibrand's skin tingles and he feels uncomfortable, which is not the way he likes things. The officer crosses his arms and stares down at the petite pickpocket with what he hopes is intimidating distrust.

"Unfortunately, I do not have the pleasure of choosing either option. I was told you have news concerning the Assassins."

At mention of the nefarious gang her eyebrows rise beneath her hat. She answers and her tone implies that she is impressed, "Assassins, eh?"

"They've been particularly brash lately," Sibrand explains, "I assume you would have heard something by now."

The thief chuckles and the officer's flesh heats once more, "It's not a matter of what I hear, Sir Sibrand. It's a matter of whether or not I can remember it."

And now comes the moment he was dreading in the car. The contact has the information, but she will not share unless he allows himself to be swindled. Sibrand supposes the best way to deal with this problem would be to simply force her cooperation. After all, it was pitiful how small she was compared to him, and he was well within his rights to beat a straight answer or two from her. He could also take her into custody and threaten the names from her with large and frightening legal words.

But for some reason, neither of those ideas appeal to Sibrand as much as standing right here racing for a snappy comeback. Eventually, he realizes he does not have one.

Things end the way they always do. Sibrand sighs and pulls a fifty-dollar-bill from his wallet. His companion eyes it hungrily, but it is not hers until she recites every known member of the infamous Assassins and where their favored meeting spot of the week is located.

When Sibrand is satisfied, he releases his hold on the paper and watches as she snatches it with both hands. She quickly stuffs the bill into the right pocket of her worn jeans, but then she has the nerve to pout up at him as though expecting more.

"We are done here," He announces curtly, unable to stand his informant's childish manners, "_Danke, _Faustina."

"Will I see you next week?" She wonders before he can take his leave.

Sibrand considers. It's true he owes her a little something for her help previously, but he has turned the situation over in his mind many times. He cannot imagine how a high-ranking officer of the law and a beautiful stool pigeon could possibly maintain a relationship. Would it not be so incredibly awkward or-

He called her beautiful in his head and she's still waiting for an answer.

"Perhaps." Sibrand responds in a rather indecisive way. Faustina is all smiles.


	2. The Party Is Nice

The party is nice, but Ezio's seen better. After several months of college life, Ezio doesn't really go to the parties to party anymore. Rather, he and his big brother frequent the gatherings to 'be seen', as it's said.

Tonight's get-together is not very original. The music's beat is thumping obnoxiously loud, the lights are dim, ill-dressed women are stumbling past nursing cans of beer, the air stinks of smoke and cologne, and the floor is sprinkled with crumbs, juice stains, and the occasional patch of vomit. Ezio and Federico have been here for almost an hour, but its clear they were late in arrival.

It is midnight, and still nothing of interest has transpired. Federico leans against the wall with his arms folded while Ezio scans the horizon for some salvation to their boredom. A laughing couple meanders by, and after a few minutes someone claiming to be Federico's childhood friend shows up, but other than that the scene stays quiet.

Until he sees _her, _of course.

For the life of him, Ezio cannot imagine why she is holding a clipboard. But she is, and she seems to wield it skillfully. He watches as she approaches student after student, even managing to steal their attention for a bit as she has stolen his.

It takes him a moment to realize she is attractive. Perhaps it was the beer muddling his senses, but how could he have missed a behind that fine? And the way her sleeveless top slunk along the curves of her abdomen, accentuating them so lusciously…

Ezio just stares as she talks earnestly with a sophomore, who nods in agreement. After all, how could he reject anything that falls from those plump, painted lips? Her cheeks color when he replies with something that makes her laugh. For some reason, Ezio is suddenly jealous it wasn't his remark that amused her.

"Ready to go home, baby brother?" Federico's question barely registers with him, "This place is dull."

"No, no, not yet," Ezio shakes his head but does not turn away from the girl with the clipboard, "Federico, check that out."

Federico follows his brother's gaze and grins.

"You like her, don't you?"

Ezio scoffs at the statement, but his face flushes uncomfortably.

"So go talk to her already. Give me some entertainment."

"I'm not stupid, Federico. What could I possibly tell her?"

"Isn't it obvious? Ask her about her clipboard."

The younger Auditore is unsure of this plan, but he falls silent and considers. If he is this nervous merely looking at her, how much more so will he be trying to hold a conversation! And yet he cannot ignore such well-presented bosoms in a petite frame.

He inhales his fear and exhales it. A brief nod to Federico and he's off. The older Auditore merely makes himself comfortable and grins widely.

Ezio's in luck; she's just finished her talk with the other sophomore. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and turns around, nearly bumping into the anxious Auditore.

Now, Ezio tells himself, is the time to insert a pickup line. He smiles and his mental hand dives into the lake of intros he plots in his spare time.

It comes up empty.

"What?" She frowns at him, impatience leaking into her glossy, black-rimmed eyes.

Ezio's brain launches into a state of panic. He has her attention and his mind reacts by instantly deleting every pickup he ever learned, including those he heard in his childhood. However, the college student does everything in his power to prevent such confusion from showing on his face. Instead, he parrots her declaration.

"What?" He has realized now that he is still smiling, as though it is absolutely natural for him to be blocking her path so deliberately.

"Why are you just standing there?" She replies, more with bafflement than irritation.

"Oh!" Ezio starts a moment. He's sweating now, he can feel the drops wetting his arms and slicking his palms. He had all these words he wanted to say a few seconds ago, but he just couldn't seem to…words? What are words? "I…wanted to ask you something."

She raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, beckoning him to continue.

"Which is…" He purses his lips, trying to come up with a question from the same brain that has, in its frenzy, deleted his ability to communicate.

Suddenly Ezio's smile widens and he blurts, "What's your name?"

To his surprise, she laughs. But it is not the sweet, rewarding laugh she gave earlier. No, this is more of a snide, not-impressed style chortle.

She slides around him with the words, "Not one you'll ever need to make use of."

Oh, Ezio thinks to himself, ok then. Her ass shifts as she walks away, taunting him. And that is when his mind lunges forward in what appears to be an apology:

"Hey, wait! I wasn't ready!"

She turns back to him, surprised. Ezio thanks the Creator.

"I was planning on being really charming and funny," he admits, his voice going quieter, "could I please have a second chance?"

The woman with the clipboard relinquishes an honest smile and then resumes her leave. At this point Ezio surrenders, deciding to shrug off his defeat with a submissive, 'oh well'.

Federico's loud chuckle greets him before the man approaches. Ezio eyes his brother with a small measure of shame.

"Don't worry, Ezio, not all is lost," Federico assures him, "you made her smile. She will remember you now."

A part of the student informs Ezio that whatever floats on the air in these parties is obviously not good for him, because immediately he says: "No, I can fix this. I'll have her name and number by one, trust me."

Federico is either impressed or indulgent, but either way he cocks an eyebrow. "Good luck then, baby brother. See you tomorrow."

Ezio would ordinarily be disappointed that Federico is leaving so early, but tonight he has more important things to worry about. Federico's warnings against too much drink are ignored as Ezio scans the room for that wonderfully tight pair of jeans.

He finds them heading for the apartment's back door. Stealthily, Ezio follows her from the party and into the kitchen. He watches as she procures a key from her snug pocket and inserts it into the exit door. Damn, he curses. But he is just as quick to praise his fortune when she leaves the key in the lock.

Ezio relates, as he slips through the doorframe, that the key is probably not hers because the apartment most likely belongs to someone else. Either way, he is infinitely thankful he is not stuck behind that locked door.

She continues on her way down the dorm's hall and around the corner. Ezio realizes he hasn't a clue why he's following her. This is probably the single creepiest thing he's ever done. He bites his lip as he ducks behind a potted plant in an effort to remain hidden. He's not usually this strange, is he? No, this is an isolated event. Besides, it's not like he's going to rape her or anything.

The young Auditore peeks out from behind his plant and clamps his mouth shut to avoid cursing loudly. She's headed for an elevator!

Thinking quick, Ezio grabs a newspaper from the doormat of the closest apartment and rushes for the lift, making it in moments before she does. He tears the newspaper open and buries his face in it.

She's staring at him. Ezio flushes and turns the page. The elevator's doors slide shut. He hears a brief click as she presses her floor's button.

"Which number do you need?"

Oh fuck, he thinks, she's talking to me.

"Ground floor." He answers gruffly. He adds a few rough coughs to the end of his sentence, hoping to throw her off his trail.

Another click, and then the tiny compartment is silent.

Ezio begins to wonder whether the air in the elevator is ordinarily this heated.

There is a soft beep and the lift pulls to a halt. The moment she steps out of the cab Ezio drops his paper, happy to breathe in a lungful of something besides rotting leaves. He just catches the floor number before the doors shut and he is plummeting down once more.

Much less tense now, Ezio strolls up to the keypad and presses the button marked 'seven'. The elevator pauses, then readjusts. When he exits the lift she is just turning the corner yet again.

Ezio jogs to catch up, but slows his pace when he considers how late it is. Voices meet him from around the bend, and Ezio can't help but eavesdrop.

"I already told you, I'm not interested." She's using a completely different tone of voice than the one he heard at the party. This one is flat and lifeless.

"Yeah, but I am."

The Auditore scowls at the older male's haughty response. He should've anticipated Vieri going after the same catch he was. Vieri is known practically everywhere as the big ass on campus.

"Get in line."

"I think not, sweetheart."

The girl inhales sharply, drawing Ezio close at once.

"I've decided I'm tired of waiting for you to open you legs on your own!"

Ezio arrives just in time to answer Vieri's threat. As the hall is empty but for the three of them, it does not take long for the Auditore to capture Vieri's interest.

"You annoying bastard!" The Pazzi boy accuses him as Ezio interrupts what appears to be an assault in progress, "Get out of here. This has nothing to do with you."

"Nice to see you, too, Vieri," Ezio replies darkly, approaching despite the warning. He takes the frightened girl's hand, "I think you're disturbing this young lady's day!"

Vieri is outraged. To illustrate this, he throws a punch at Ezio's jaw.

Ezio catches the blow, but it was not a strong one. He ducks the next attack and dodges away from the door, hoping the girl will find some cover. Vieri follows his lead, blindly flinging fist after fist.

Finally, the Pazzi leaves his flank wide open. Ezio launches a blow at the side of his head, staggering him. Then he is quick to bring his foot forward and trip the aggressive senior.

Once Vieri is on the ground, Ezio aims a few kicks at his ribs. After only one or two, the older boy is scurrying away, farther from his attacker's converses. Ezio allows Vieri to climb to his feet and shakily exclaim:

"You will pay for interfering! Your whole family will."

An unattractive glob of spit hurls itself at the floor, and then Vieri pelts down the hall and around the corner.

Ezio exhales and rubs his face, the adrenaline of the fight still pumping through him. He's got a bruise on his jaw, but other than that he seems fine.

He turns back to the apartment where the girl from the party stands shocked, ashen faced and hands shaking.

"Are you alright?" He asks, taking a step closer.

She nods, tears of fright rimming her lids. "I am now."

Ezio is relieved, but he goes from relief to surprise when she walks up to him and speaks.

"You asked for my name earlier," There is even an attempt at a smile, though it is a ghost of the one she gave an hour ago, "it's 'Cristina'."

Cristina, he thinks. That is a nice name.

"Nice to meet you, Cristina. I'm Ezio."

He doesn't even notice his grinning again. Oddly enough, the sight makes her laugh quietly and she teases him, "Well, Ezio. It seems you've got yourself a second chance."

And then, completely of her own accord, Cristina reaches onto her tiptoes and presses her lips against his cheek. She draws back, a little embarrassed, and enters her flat with a tiny, 'good night'.

Ezio stands there. Blood gushes into his face, heating every inch of it. The particular area touched by her is white-hot. He smirks to himself and slowly begins to walk home. Assuming his roommates are still awake, he has quite the story for them.


End file.
